I generally hesitate to employ these two rather ill-defined words, but numerous moments in "Das Land des Lächelns" could serve as exemplary illustrations of the former, if by 'camp' is meant theatrical and exaggerated. The definition of kitsch is 'sentimental, pretentious, or vulgar tastelessness'. Viewers unsympathetic to operetta would likely apply it.
The 1974 film is a moderately faithful adaptation of the 1929 operetta, composed by Franz Lehár. Much of the camp and kitsch is right there in the original. I have mixed feelings about the late operettas of Lehár. For all their musical merit, they surely display the decadence of the genre. Vestiges of traditional operetta frivolity sit very awkwardly alongside (or underneath) effusions of almost morbid Romanticism. No longer content as an operetta composer, Lehár aspired to be the Puccini of the German-speaking world. Just how seriously should these works be taken? Are they comedies or tragedies? It is hard to say, and "Das Land des Lächelns" presents more problems than most, given the centrality of racial issues to its plot (the doomed love of an Asian man and a European woman in 1912).
The film adds a thick layer of 1970s kitsch to the 1920s kitsch. The adaptation from stage to screen is half-hearted. A straightforward recording of a stage performance might have been more successful. Here theatrical sets, choreography, and acting are subject to merciless close-up. Worst of all, the singers are clearly miming to a studio recording of their own voices. They sing excellently, it must be said, but the effect is alienating. So is the ill-advised casting of genuinely Asian supernumeraries alongside European principals pretending to be Asian. For no obvious reason, the film switches Prince Sou Chong's homeland from China to fictional Buratonga, apparently meant to be part of Indonesia or Malaysia (though the Asians in the cast are Korean!).
René Kollo, better known for Wagnerian roles, gives a dignified performance as the Prince (though without the inscrutable smile that justifies the title of the work). Dagmar Koller sings and dances energetically as his sister Mi, and she cannot really be blamed for having such an exceptionally unBuratongan face. Birgit Pitsch-Sarata is less satisfactory, her acting being limited to 'leading lady' clichés. What facial expression should a soprano assume while the tenor indulges in prolonged declarations of passionate love for her? Pitsch-Sarata opts for smug, and the result is hilarious.
The 1974 film is a moderately faithful adaptation of the 1929 operetta, composed by Franz Lehár. Much of the camp and kitsch is right there in the original. I have mixed feelings about the late operettas of Lehár. For all their musical merit, they surely display the decadence of the genre. Vestiges of traditional operetta frivolity sit very awkwardly alongside (or underneath) effusions of almost morbid Romanticism. No longer content as an operetta composer, Lehár aspired to be the Puccini of the German-speaking world. Just how seriously should these works be taken? Are they comedies or tragedies? It is hard to say, and "Das Land des Lächelns" presents more problems than most, given the centrality of racial issues to its plot (the doomed love of an Asian man and a European woman in 1912).
The film adds a thick layer of 1970s kitsch to the 1920s kitsch. The adaptation from stage to screen is half-hearted. A straightforward recording of a stage performance might have been more successful. Here theatrical sets, choreography, and acting are subject to merciless close-up. Worst of all, the singers are clearly miming to a studio recording of their own voices. They sing excellently, it must be said, but the effect is alienating. So is the ill-advised casting of genuinely Asian supernumeraries alongside European principals pretending to be Asian. For no obvious reason, the film switches Prince Sou Chong's homeland from China to fictional Buratonga, apparently meant to be part of Indonesia or Malaysia (though the Asians in the cast are Korean!).
René Kollo, better known for Wagnerian roles, gives a dignified performance as the Prince (though without the inscrutable smile that justifies the title of the work). Dagmar Koller sings and dances energetically as his sister Mi, and she cannot really be blamed for having such an exceptionally unBuratongan face. Birgit Pitsch-Sarata is less satisfactory, her acting being limited to 'leading lady' clichés. What facial expression should a soprano assume while the tenor indulges in prolonged declarations of passionate love for her? Pitsch-Sarata opts for smug, and the result is hilarious.